


Origin: Gaara

by BaffledFox



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alpha Naruto, Alpha Shukaku, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Omega Gaara, Omega Kyuubi, Pining, Vampires/Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaffledFox/pseuds/BaffledFox
Summary: Gaara from past to present. Self-reflection and pining for a certain blond haired alpha while he endures with his curse in the desert wastes.





	Origin: Gaara

**Author's Note:**

> This was a starter post to a RP I am/was invested in. It's about 20 or so pages, and it's very Gaara-centric since he was my main character along with Shukaku. It's a stand alone for here; there won't be more of it. We haven't yet decided to publish the entire story yet, but since I spent effort on this piece, and I really liked the world build/theme, I wanted to post it.
> 
> Enjoy.

Gaara didn’t sleep, not anymore. 

In the brief stints of being unconscious(when he nodded off during days of denying himself rest) he wouldn’t really dream. He’d only remember, remember terrible days, the smell of blood, the sound of screams, the almost palpable taste of bitter fear. 

Before Shukaku, Gaara’s life hadn’t been any better. 

\--

He was born cursed; chakra was infused in his blood, it made him unstable, it gave him the ability to control the sand that lined his desert home. The force of his birth had killed his mother, a bad omen the midwife had said, and she hadn’t been wrong. At the age of four his abilities made themselves known; he suffered through a tantrum(common of a toddler), his emotions spiked out of control and suddenly the writing lesson he had been given near the oasis had turned into a bloodbath. The sand around him had reared up, catching his shocked tutor off guard and just as suddenly wrapped around the middle aged woman, crushing her almost immediately. 

The resulting shower of blood had coated Gaara and the immediate area; he had went into a panicked sort of numb shock, and when he was found his father was immediately called to an emergency council meeting.

‘Sasori of the red sand, you remember him don’t you?’ 

Sasori had been a Suna inhabitant that suffered a curse similar to Gaara. Though, he had also been granted leniency due to his grandmother’s influence on the council. Sasori at first didn’t show any glaring signs of his affliction, and eventually the village was at peace with the notion that perhaps Sasori wasn’t as dangerous as first predicted, that maybe grandma Chiyo had been right to defend her grandson. 

It wasn’t until he reached the age of seven, and his parents had died that the youth began to show his more twisted side. It wasn’t until Sasori’s dead parents rose again in the form of puppets created from their cadavers that the village cried for the youth to be exiled. 

Chiyo couldn’t save him then, but nor could she save anyone else from the resulting wrath her grandson had rained down on them. 

Legend told that the child was now a man, and he had created over two hundred human puppets since then. He existed somewhere, and was always a threat; but had devolved into a tale told to scare children into behaving. Chiyo had since been removed from the council and stayed in exile in the high palace in the mountains that lined the Suna territory with her twin brother. 

Now however, the legend of Sasori felt more real than a fairytale when another sand user had been born in their village. They could not suffer through this again, and so the unrest in the village grew, and so did the hatred for the young four year old. 

Despite sending hawks out to gain Chiyo’s council on the delicate matter, no one had heard from her and the decision fell to Rasa to make. 

‘He’s dangerous.’

‘He’s a demon.’

‘You can’t keep him here, Rasa.’ 

Against the better judgement of the village his father had kept him, giving his care mostly to his uncle, his siblings were seen less and less. Gaara hadn’t known at the time that his father was just biding time, thinking the village could use this ‘weapon’ to their advantage, to become stronger and more feared among its allies. Gaara didn’t know at the time that no one had really loved him at all, he was just something to be used, or something to be feared. 

His uncle, Yashamaru had seemed sincere in wanting to get to know him, to understand him. Little by little Gaara’s fear of the world started to abate, and he latched on to his new caretaker. Life in the village continued as it usually did, his father being the Kazekage he was always busy and rarely seen; his siblings only admitted to his room during chaperoned playdates. For almost two years Gaara felt he was ‘happy’, in control, ‘loved’. 

His power grew, but so did his control of it. He practiced when he was alone, on his stuffed animals, his toys, even the books he had been given. Gaara was able to manipulate the sand(even the fine grains just nestled between the tiles of the tower) to rip, tear, and crush anything he willed it to. He realized if he could control his emotions he could wield the sand strategically, that he could specifically target items in the room instead of the entire space. 

Gaara had been proud of his own control, though he normally practiced his magic alone, he had come to trust Yashamaru and decided to show his uncle how much progress he had made. He was hoping that maybe, if he deemed him ‘safe’, his father would release him from his prison and he’d be able to go outside again. He missed the sun on his face(the brief glimpse of it through the slotted windows at the top of the tower was nothing in comparison), fresh sand between his fingers, and the taste of oasis water(not the tepid bowls of it given to him briefly throughout the day). 

Gaara hadn’t known that Yashamaru was already aware of his progress; that he had already discussed his fate with his father. His elevated control only made him more dangerous because that meant the scales of him getting out of control was even stronger now. Yashamaru had argued that when Gaara reached puberty his secondary gender could throw another wrench into this plot of using him as a weapon and persuaded his brother to see that the cons outweighed the pros. Yashamaru had spoken of betrayal, that Gaara could usurp him given the chance and control the entire village if he was strong enough to, and immediately Rasa made his decision. 

He hadn’t known that that Friday would be the last day he’d see any of his family members alive.

It had been a few hours after dusk, the air was cooler, the sunset outside casting long shadows in Gaara’s tower room. The candles that lined the walls had been lit and the young redhead had tidied up the space in anticipation of his uncle’s visit. 

His uncle had entered the room as he had so many times before, with a tray of meats and dried fruits to share. Together they had sat at the low table in the center of the room and kindly Yashamaru had engaged him in conversation. Gaara had showed him a picture he had colored in with crayons of his entire family, and finally the young child had shyly mentioned his progress with his sand ability. 

Yashamaru had praised him; Gaara could still remember the kind smile he had been given, the way his hair had looked almost white framing his face with the flickering flames of the candles shadowing them. He remembered the gentleness in his eyes when he opened his arms and beckoned Gaara in for a hug since he had been doing so well. 

Gaara had got himself up on his feet, shifted the cotton cloak he wore around his shoulders so it wouldn’t get in the way(he still remembered what the fabric felt like under his fingers, scratchy and cheap). His bare feet on the tiles were loud, the sting of them cold and real(even now), he had opened his arms trustingly as he embraced his uncle who in turn embraced him back. 

He remembered the strong soothing scent the omega had; it was lulling, it reminded him of his mother somehow, or maybe just the thought of what a mother should be. Gaara could feel the fine linen of Yashamaru’s shirt bunched under his tiny fists as he held on tight, craving this affection so desperately. 

‘I love you Gaara.’ 

The man had said and Gaara had gasped, staring up at the ceiling with wide green eyes. But, it wasn’t the shock of the statement that struck him, no, it was the /pain/. 

Suddenly so real, a bloom of heat clawing through the nerves of his back where the blade had tried to stick in. Just the tip of it had touched down, enough to stab through skin, to make Gaara /bleed/ but not deep enough to be fatal. 

Almost just as quickly the rocks around them crushed into dust, the new sand rearing to Gaara’s defense, the glittering grains coming together to create an arm, a hand, slithering up Yashamaru’s offending limbs, coiling around him like a living thing. 

Yashamaru had tried to scramble away from him, to push him, to /hurt/ him more. 

Gaara was crying, wailing, so angry, so sad; so many emotions running through him all at once and the sand was reacting to him like a vicious protector. He kept holding onto his uncle, even as Yashamaru screamed, even when the sand punched into his mouth and eyes, even when the blood started to drip all over him. 

Yashamaru’s screams were garbled, useless and ugly when the sand infiltrated his body, destroying him from the inside out before it crushed him completely. Gaara had finally let go, standing over the bloodied figure of his uncle as the rust-colored sand retreated to fan around him protectively. Tear tracks marred his young face, his lips were trembling, his heart hurt so badly he was holding his chest with both hands, tiny fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. 

The dagger had fell somewhere, unimportant, but the pain still existed. 

He had blood on him, Yashamaru’s blood, it matted in his red hair, dried on his face and soiled his clothing. The smell of it was turning his stomach and he was starting to panic. 

It wasn’t long before the guards pounded on the doors, having heard Yashamaru’s aborted shout and Gaara had fell to the floor, grabbing at his head, yelling for everything to stop. It needed to be a bad dream, it needed to be, why did everyone hate him? Why did everyone want to kill him? 

His nails raked over his scalp, pulling at his unruly hair as his eyes pinched shut. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything but succumb to the shock and pain.

Gaara would gain lucidity only after the tower had been crushed to dust. His father, his siblings, his uncle, and the majority of the staff that frequented the Kazekage tower were all killed under the weight of sand. The sand had wrapped around Gaara like a protective bubble, shielding him when the tower eventually collapsed until he was safe on the ground level among the wreckage. 

The villagers that had all come out to see the tower fall watched in horror as the young seven-year-old stepped up onto toppled stone. His body was caked in grit and blood, his green eyes as sharp and empty as cut jade. 

In the immediate area no one had moved, everyone was watching him, mostly watching the sand that whirled and broke around him like a small sandstorm; the hiss of it sounding like a rattling snake. 

Then, all at once, the wave of sand flattened, jutting out with the force of a tidal wave, spreading between buildings like water, crushing legs where it touched, toppling people into the sand where they were smothered; the resulting blood and bodies turning the sand black and sluggish like tar. 

In just a handful of minutes everyone that had been watching were dead, the nearby buildings toppled like paper, and Gaara was left in the center of the ‘blast radius’. With dead eyes he surveyed the scene, smelling the scent of death in his nose, tasting it on his tongue. He wasn’t crying anymore, he wasn’t afraid anymore, and he wasn’t in pain anymore. 

If no one was here, no one could hurt him. 

He stepped off the sandstone block he had been standing on, bare feet touching fresh sand, the wave of his chakra-infused sand returning to him, twisting up into a oblong shape, gurgling like an agitated thing as it shifted into a gourd-like shape, the majority of the blood-soaked sand disappearing inside. It corked itself a moment later, and Gaara manipulated his linen cloak into something akin to a halter so he could fasten the heavy thing up on his back. The magic gourd dwarfed his small body as he took his first steps towards freedom. 

The village was quiet, the moonlight a lonely beacon in the endless black sky above him. 

He didn’t know where he was going, but he went anyway, one foot in front of the other, and he didn’t look back. 

\--

In the present a sixteen-year-old Gaara was sitting alone in the dark. 

He was huddled near an intimidating shape of a tall cactus, the desert night air cold and sharp in his lungs. The hazy sound of cicadas breaking the silence of the night, distantly the mournful howl of a lonely coyote. 

Gaara was never really alone, not anymore.

Not since Shukaku. 

Even though the biju wasn’t present, didn’t mean he wasn’t here. He was always somewhere nearby, watching him, keeping him on his toes. Gaara could almost feel his eyes on him, but where was there to hide in this landscape? 

All around him was flat land, sand as far as the eye could see(the scenery a dark shadowy indigo in the night under the waning moonlight). Other than the cactuses and the brittle low branching shrubs that broke up the landscape there was nowhere for the demon to hide. 

But, he was here, he knew he was, could almost see the smirk on his lips, could almost see the cruel glint in his black evil eyes in the shadows around him. Gaara had brought a hand up to the red kanji burned above his left eye; the sealing mark that Naruto had placed on him, that bound the one tailed beast to him. His long fingers touched over the raised scarred skin, roaming over the lines that formed the word for ‘love’. 

He hated Shukaku.

But, he didn’t hate Naruto for binding them together. 

Suddenly he saw a glint of metal whizzing towards him, a kunai, so quick it was almost faster than he could see. Just as suddenly his sand reached up to deflect the object, his green eyes scanning the empty area for his attacker, but he knew who it was.

Shukaku’s laugh was deep and ugly, mocking him as it broke the pleasant sound of insects and the organic sounds of hidden beasts that lived in this dry waste. 

He couldn’t sleep.

The consequences were always worse if he slept. 

\--

Gaara didn’t know that his village had been leveled by Shukaku just two years after he had fled. 

He had stayed in the desert, though he edged along the borders of the territory, he never committed to leaving his homeland. The lush green of the forests he had managed to get to startled him, and on the opposite side the landscape of the rivers and marshland concerned him even more. He was adept with using his sand, and carried the bulk of it on his back, but the thought of leaving the sandy wasteland was something he just couldn’t do. 

The sand was safe, the more of it he had access to, the safer he felt he was. 

Gaara had even developed an ‘armor’ using the sand; the packed grains coated his body entirely, the warmth of the sand on his bare skin was soothing. It shielded him from the harsh sunlight and it kept his body temperature regular during the impossibly cold nights of the desert. 

Though, the more he developed his powers the less control he felt he had over them. Yes, the sand armor protected him, but it protected him from all things, even himself. He could no longer nick his own skin, or even trip without the armor shielding him from the blow. The same went for the sand he used as both a weapon and defense; the sand seemed to have become its own entity, focused on the ‘host’, to protect Gaara at all costs. 

He knew the sand was dictated by his moods, which was a reason he had worked hard to control his emotions in his years of isolation. If he was calm he could direct the sand easily, but if he became agitated or frustrated the sand was a lot like a static charge, darting here and there around him as if trying to find the enemy that didn’t exist(at least not outside Gaara’s own mind). It had been a challenge to get himself under control, but he had managed it, and he felt he was strong enough to at least defend himself if needed(probably from most things). 

Though, that might’ve been high praise assuming the biggest thing in the desert was the coyotes. 

Gaara didn’t count the supernatural beings that lived on the edges of the dead flatland, he had yet to encounter anything stronger than a dumb beast in his natural element. Even the caves(that he had checked so far) had been barren of life. He had yet to realize it was probably because of the havok Shukaku had wrought, that his energy(undetectable currently) was like an invisible blemish in the air. 

The magically inclined were averse to the feelings that Shukaku had poisoned the air all around Suna with. Perhaps even Gaara could feel it on some primal level, perhaps it was a reason he never could complete his trek back to his birth town. 

Gaara survived off the desert fruit he could find, the dirty wellsprings that existed just under the ground, and the few oasis that dotted the landscape. Hunting was easy with his sand, he dried the meat he caught and warmed himself by small fires at night. Mostly he lived in the caves on the extreme edge of Suna, at the base of the mountain range, but sometimes he’d wander further in. Sometimes he’d find himself wandering in the direction of the village, but would never commit to fully going back there, and he had never truly seen it since he had fled. 

Gaara was all of ten years old, hunting in the early morning, when he spotted the outsiders. They had come from the direction of Konoha(the lush woodland territory that was about three days run from the main Sunagakure gate). Up until that point Gaara had seen no others enter the sandy desert(not even from Sunagakure itself, had he been really paying attention to it), and so his curiosity spiked. There was nowhere to hide out in the open like he was, but from this distance he wasn’t sure if the foreigners had seen him. 

One was tall, blond and tan, the other two were light skinned with darker hair(one a sandy red-blonde, the other a honey brown). The blond man had been leading the group, just a few steps ahead, his gait determined and sure of where he was going. 

Gaara was only wearing his faded black pants(the ones he had fled in when he was seven), they no longer fit like they should. His growing body had the fabric stopping at his knees rather than his ankles like before, and they were a bit too tight on his slight frame. He didn’t wear a shirt, just the dirty white cotton scraps of what was once his cloak but now was just the holster for his gourd which was dutifully strapped to his back. 

Gaara’s skin was pale, the sand that covered him nearly invisible(only the slight glittering sheen seen when the sun hit him just right), he was still barefoot though with the armor didn’t feel the burn of the ground under his feet. He should look dirty, but the sand kept him clean, the only thing truly wild about him was his hair and his flat green eyes that didn’t look like they belonged in the pudgy face of a ten-year-old. 

From this distance the foreigners were just spots of color, but they were of enough interest for Gaara to start walking after them. Sand had escaped from his gourd, the cork having been popped(held aloft by a thin trail of golden sand), the thin mass hissed and slithered around him like a living thing, ready for a fight if it came to it. 

It didn’t take long for him to be noticed, just as the sun started to break over the horizon, the heat of the day breaking through the dewy morning, almost instantly the honey-brunette was no longer standing to the right of the blond. 

Gaara almost didn’t have time to even be alarmed, the man reappeared behind him, but before he could lay a hand on him, his sand reacted(already prepped for the fight). Gaara turned in time to see his sand grab the man’s fist, block the secondary attack and ward him off when the taller male jumped back in a crouch. 

Gaara’s sand whirled around him defensively like a small tornado; fluffing his hair from the static heat, his arms folded confidently across his bony chest, He didn’t feel fear anymore, not since that day in the village, he was numb to most everything and his lack of expression showed as much. 

The offending Carpathian had bared his teeth at him; Gaara was still too young to be aware of anything on a primal level, the fact that this man(and the others) were alpha escaped him entirely. Instead Gaara had extended an arm, a hand, his fingers starting to curl, causing the sand to immediately lash forward towards the Carpathian in a blink of movement. 

Just as quickly Naruto appeared; he blocked the sand with his short sword, slicing it boldly, the energy infused blade causing the magical sand to collapse before it could rebuild itself again. Gaara’s brow furrowed in confusion but he tried to make the attack again, Naruto deflected it again and finally the blond had spoke in a voice he didn’t expect, with a casual grin that seemed extremely out of place given the circumstance, ‘That’s no way to say ‘hello’ to someone.’ 

\--

Gaara rubbed at his dark ringed eyes, remembering the look on Naruto’s face the first day he met him, the whisker marks pulled taunt on his youthful tanned face when he grinned and the clear blue of his eyes that reminded him of the cloudless desert sky. 

Naruto had rooted himself deep in his memory, a constant warm glow that helped ease the bitterness of his current existence. 

Gaara didn’t know what he felt for Naruto; but it was something strong and necessary. He still didn’t entirely know what love meant; he only knew when he thought of the word it caused him pain. He’d remember his family, his uncle, he’d remember the blade in his back and the distrustful eyes of the villagers. 

No, what he felt for Naruto was more pure than that. Better than the ugly emotion of love. 

It didn’t hurt, what he felt for Naruto, it was soft and nice, something he needed in this jagged world. 

Naruto had taught him the ways of tracking, how to defend himself with an actual weapon(not that Gaara carried any of those aside from the kunai gifted to him from the blond), and how to read people. He had been kind, patient, and accepting; and though it took months for Gaara to get out of his shell enough to trust the blond, he finally had. 

He followed him everywhere, spoke with no one else in Naruto’s small group(which he learned later consisted of the bound biju Kurama, whom initially had hung back on their first meeting), and Naruto had even let him sleep in his tent. 

Naruto needed him to navigate the treacherous Suna territory, though Gaara was sure the Carpathian could have probably managed alone, it had felt good to be needed by someone, and he had done his best to provide Naruto with whatever he needed. 

Naruto gave him praise, kind words, and attention. 

That was all Gaara thought he needed, all he had wanted. He obsessed over Naruto, was there the moment he woke up, and there again the moment he settled down for a rest(though Naruto rarely slept, Gaara had tried to also stave off sleep to stay with him). He had gotten familiar with Naruto’s spicy alpha scent, his mannerisms, and his habits. They would travel together for almost two years before they would finally find whom they had been looking for. 

Shukaku. 

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts the biju /appeared/ in front of him. 

The blond man was all long muscled limbs, a lazy smirk on his lips, his dark eyes mad and cruel as ever. There was no way he could hide his nature, he exuded /danger/ like a neon sign. His rusty-bronze skin looked darker in the night, the flesh broken up by tattooed whirls, lines, and dots of indigo in random patterns that Gaara wasn’t sure made any sense; starting from his throat and finished all along his body. He wore a simple black kimono, a crane pattern etched in silver starting from the right shoulder down to his left hip; the obi was a stark white, crisp and clean in the darkness, cinched with a red cord. 

The kimono was open in the front, exposing a wide line of his tattooed chest, his left arm tucked around his middle, the empty left sleeve of his kimono billowing idly in the wind. In his right hand he held a pipe aloft, the embers smoking in the shallow dip where the tobacco burned. He sucked mildly on the thing, smoke shifting around him like wayward ghosts. 

“You look like you’re thinking about something.” He said, his coal black eyes focused on Gaara. 

Gaara had kept his gaze level on Shukaku, it was never a good idea to let the man know what he was thinking. He tried his best to always stay in control around the biju, he was sure to keep his sand hidden in the gourd. Defending himself against the demon was pointless, he wasn’t strong enough to /win/, so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in a pointless challenge. “No.” He said, wanting to deflect Shukaku’s attention, wanting the tanuki to bleed back into the night and leave him ‘alone’. 

Shukaku didn’t move from where he stood, exhaling slowly, smoke seeping from his nostrils and slightly parted plush lips. His shoulder-length white blond hair was clipped up in a bun that caused the strands in the back to poke up at all angles, the spiky hair that escaped framed the sharpness of his jawline and swept across tapered brows. His eyes were ringed with black that seemed to bleed down his face in two thick inky streaks just under each eye ending on either side of his chin. “I think that’s a lie.” The alpha said in his same humorless tone. 

Gaara was quiet, keeping his eyes level to his companion. 

“You’re thinking of Naruto,” Shukaku said with a snort, “Which I don’t particularly care about, as long as you understand what’s going to happen when we find that asshole.” 

“We’re going to be unbound.” Gaara said, finally looking away, not interested in Shukaku’s blind anger towards Naruto, nor the insults he was expected to toss at him(even just the memory of him). 

Shukaku was suddenly in his space, his free hand gripping at his chin, his black claws touching his /bare/ skin because whatever bewitching magic this biju contained it caused his sand to retreat from his touch, his sand armor useless. Gaara reluctantly flicked his eyes back to Shukaku’s smug face causing the biju to grin(his teeth white and obscenely sharp), “We’ll be unbound by whatever means necessary. I know you hate me just as much as I hate you, kid.” 

Gaara’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t respond. 

“It’s better that way,” He said, finally dropping Gaara’s chin and standing back to his full height. Absently he took in a great breath on his pipe, the embers burning brightly, “It means you’ll do anything to get rid of me.” He exhaled smoke with a laugh. 

\--

The first time Gaara had seen Shukaku he had been a giant blond beast, coated in strange indigo markings, his burning black eyes fixated on Naruto the moment the Carpathian had finally cornered him. 

Shukaku had left Suna a few months after it had been destroyed. 

After all, a toppled city was no real prize, and he needed more entertainment. Shukaku was made to end lives, to bathe in blood, to laugh at the sight of tears. He took no prisoners, he had no allies, and he reeked of death. 

It had taken days to smoke him out; his trail hadn’t been difficult to follow, but Shukaku was smart. He didn’t leave himself open, and he would have gotten away had it not been for Kurama’s magical influence. 

Naruto’s bound biju mostly kept to himself, stayed just on the edge of the group and didn’t seem keen on anything that happened with Naruto or anyone else. But, on occasion he’d join them by the fire, and sometimes if he was in a good enough mood, he’d speak of ancient things. It seemed Kurama’s hatred for Shukaku went back ages, and the fox was intent on seeing the blond beast just as miserable as he currently was bound to a human form. 

The fight between Shukaku and Naruto had been awe-inspiring but relatively quick. It hadn’t taken the Carpathian long to lure Shukaku into his trap, the rune marks he had drawn on the muddy floor in blood had instantly glowed the moment Shukaku had stepped into the center of it. Naruto had yelled something Gaara couldn’t make out and just as quickly the bloody runes had reached up and wrapped around the biju. 

Shukaku had roared, leveling the trees around him, his huge fists clawing into the mucky ground below him but nothing could break the spell that Naruto had on him(not yet). 

The strain to keep the spell active was apparent on Naruto’s body; his face was flushed, sweat caused his bronze skin to glow, the runes on his body were iridescent in the gloomy light of the marshy forest. Gaara could remember just staring at the scene, at Shukaku thrashing, at Naruto’s taut form and how his hands splayed out in front of him, his arms shaking because of some unseen force. He could recall how his sand armor had clung wetly to his skin due to the moisture in the air, could recall how his feet was stuck almost ankle-deep in this thick mud that made up the forest floor. He could smell the damp vegetation and breathed in the thick humid air. 

‘Kurama!’ Naruto’s voice was low, strained, the muscles in his neck tight with tension. 

Gaara knew what the plan had been, for Kishi(the red-blond Carpathian) to accept the demon that Naruto was soon to seal; but Kishi had been wounded, and so had Toma. Naruto may or may not have been really aware of that occurring, or even aware of anything aside from keeping Shukaku trapped, but he had shouted again for the fox demon who seemed to be weighing the options of their current situation. 

Gaara had felt Kurama’s gold eyes pass over him, then the others(struggling nearby, flattened from the energy Shukaku was emitting) before the red haired biju stalked over to him and grabbed him by the scruff of the forest green yukata he wore(another gift from Naruto). Gaara couldn’t even protest, struggle, or /think/, his eyes were rooted to Naruto, his feet touching wetly to the forest floor as Kurama all but dragged him forward. 

His sand had tried to respond but it was wet and sluggish from the humid air and Kurama’s intense /aura/ had thrown it back even where it tried to lash at the fox. 

‘Do it now.’ Kurama had hissed, the gold of his eyes prominent, his pupils mere slits of black making him look obscenely feral in the low lighting of the forest. 

At first Gaara didn’t understand, and maybe Naruto didn’t either; but just as the blond’s brows had furrowed, they flattened out again and he pressed an open glowing palm to Gaara’s face, his other hand still pointed towards Shukaku. 

The pain, Gaara didn’t really remember it. 

One moment he was awake, the next he was not. 

When he woke up again he was lying in a nest of blankets in Naruto’s tent with the blond looking down at him with concerned blue eyes. He hazily reached up to touch his forehead where he felt the itchy bandage; Gaara wasn’t sure if he spoke, if he had his voice was extremely garbled and he didn’t remember what he said. 

‘Good, you’re with us again. You had me worried.’ Naruto gave him a grin but it looked strained, Gaara realized just how pale Naruto actually looked when his eyes came more into focus. It had to be dark, the lantern was lit inside the tent and he could see the flickering firelight outside casting shadows against the walls of the tent. 

Gaara liked being this close to Naruto, he liked the worry that was etched on his face, selfishly he wanted to stay in the tent forever, with Naruto giving him his complete attention like this. Whatever had happened earlier had been worth it, if Naruto was with him now, doting on him. The redhead didn’t move from his laid out position, but unfortunately Naruto leaned back after a few minutes, giving him space, and Gaara was sure to keep his expression a blank mask(as usual). 

‘I didn’t want to just leave you like that.’ Naruto said, ‘But, we do need to go, and I wish I didn’t have to but you see that Shukaku and Kurama can’t be around each other and there’s a lot more shit in the world I have to go deal with, and…’ He rubbed the back of his neck, his blue eyes shining orange due to the lighting inside the tent, ‘You understand, right?’ 

Gaara edged himself up to a sitting position, his back pressed against the canvas of the tent wall; did he understand what? Abandonment? Loneliness? The reality that Naruto would never have stayed with him forever? 

Gaara was quiet, he plucked at the hem of his green yukata, it was dirtier than he remembered, he figured he must have fallen onto the forest floor earlier, not that he remembered. He itched at his bandage again, his jade eyes looking off at nothing in particular. 

Gaara realized he had performed his function, he had led Naruto through the desert, he had helped him find Shukaku’s trail, he had been there when Naruto sealed the demon. He had done his duty for both the world and the Carpathian, so now this was just it, wasn’t it? 

‘Gaara?’ 

The child frowned, not willing to look at Naruto, ‘When are you leaving?’ 

‘As soon as possible.’ 

Gaara could feel his heart beating in his chest, was positive Naruto could probably hear it even at this distance. He could hear the sand in his gourd roiling, lapping at the sides of its cage, reacting to Gaara’s panicked mood. He focused on keeping the sand corked, on not letting Naruto /see/ how badly he was affected by the thought of him leaving, but he was sure the blond probably knew anyway. Gaara’s brow pinched, his lips trembled into a frown, ‘You don’t look well.’ 

Naruto husked a laugh, clearly having not expected that point blank statement, especially not with how /broken/ Gaara was starting to look. ‘I’ll manage, I’ve been through worse.’ Gaara couldn’t tell if Naruto was being sincere or not, or if he just wanted to sound tough. 

Gaara figured Naruto was tough, he was an adult after all, a Carpathian. He didn’t know how old the alpha really was, but he had seen him use his power, not just last night, but times before. He was /strong/, kind, loving, and /perfect/. Finally Gaara brought his eyes to Naruto again, drinking him in and trying not to feel sad that this was probably the last time he’d see him. ‘Why can’t I…’ Gaara said slowly, ‘Go with you?’ 

‘Well, you see,’ Naruto seemed to realize something and he sighed, ‘Uh, I had to seal Shukaku to you. You remember how Kurama is sealed to me? I’ve told you about that, that we’re linked in body, if I die he dies and vice versa?’ 

Gaara knew the story of Naruto and Kurama, the blond had told him six months into their journey together, so he nodded for Naruto to continue. 

‘I had to do it,’ Naruto swallowed, looking off towards the opening of the tent which was still closed. Shadows were moving outside, there were muffled voices, the crunch of vegetation under feet followed by the wet ‘squelch’ of mud. ‘I didn’t have any other options, and when Kurama pushed you at me, it just had to be done. Do you--’

‘A little bit,’ Gaara answered the question before it was asked, frowning to the look of blatant guilt on Naruto’s face. ‘But, I don’t remember much more after that.’ 

‘I didn’t have a choice, Gaara.’ Naruto said again, huffing, ‘If it could have been anyone else, I would have spared you. You believe me right?’ 

Gaara looked into Naruto’s pleading blue eyes, feeling older than twelve in this moment; but he had never felt like a child, not really. He had too much blood on his hands to feel innocent anymore(if he had ever been). He understood the weight of pain, guilt, and necessity. He didn’t blame Naruto for anything, didn’t believe he could, and so he just nodded. 

Naruto didn’t look comforted, but he continued anyway, ‘We should go outside. I can introduce,’ He winced at the word but kept talking, ‘you to Shukaku. We need to break down camp and move on, Kurama is having a fit and we really need to go before something big happens. Well, something /bigger/ anyway.’ 

‘Okay.’ Gaara’s tone was more of a flat line than anything else, though Naruto didn’t comment on it, the tension between them had grown. Inwardly Gaara was feeling a little panicked, fluttery, and with numb hands he tied the gourd’s holster around him and followed Naruto out into camp. 

The ‘introduction’ wasn’t pleasant. 

Once they had stepped out of the tent Shukaku was there; his face an ugly snarl, the black lines marring his cheeks and the rings around his eyes made him look even more intimidating. His attention was fixed on Gaara and almost immediately the redhead’s sand had burst from the gourd to flutter around him in a protective half-wall, ready to /strike/. 

Shukaku seemed to pause at the sight of the sand, his black eyes shifting from Gaara to Naruto, his whole body pivoting towards the blond who had stepped between him and Gaara, ‘How dare you seal me to this genderless /brat/.’ 

‘His name is Gaara,’ Naruto said evenly, ignoring the growl that Shukaku was emitting, ‘He’s going to be your keeper from now on.’

‘Keeper?’ Shukaku spat, ‘More like I’m going to be his damn babysitter.’ 

Their lives were now bound, Gaara knew that much. That this angry alpha was now as important to him as his own heartbeat. From this moment on they couldn’t ‘live’ without the other, but it seemed Shukaku was going to kick and scream about it, while Gaara continued to watch on passively. 

Gaara was still mostly mulling over the fact that soon Naruto would be leaving, for probably forever, and Shukaku was really the least of his cares. Shukaku was just one more person to hate him, and Gaara had plenty of those in his short lifetime. But, Naruto was special, he was different, Naruto had sincerely cared about him and he really didn’t want him to leave. 

‘Naruto,’ Gaara had spoke quietly, a hand reaching out though pausing mid-air at the last moment before he actually touched Naruto(not going unnoticed by Shukaku’s cruel onyx eyes), ‘Can’t I just stay with you?’ 

Naruto looked over his shoulder at the young redhead, ‘I’ll be leaving Kishi and Toma with you.’ 

Gaara was used to rejection and lowered his hand, quiet now, his green eyes looking away from everything, staring at the mouth of the marshy forest to their left. 

Shukaku snorted, ‘You’re leaving more dead weight with me? It’s not like I can kill the kid, he doesn’t need /more/ protection.’ 

Gaara had stopped listening, stopped being involved at all, he had shuffled closer to the edge of the wood, his back to Naruto and his group. He heard the blond and Shukaku speaking in angry tones, could hear the snarling, could almost /sense/ the posturing both alphas were doing to gain dominance over the conversation. 

Gaara didn’t really care about any of that anymore because he was going to be abandoned. 

\--

They had packed up ‘camp’ which mostly consisted of the single tent that was gifted from Naruto, the handful of furs they had accumulated over months of hunting, a few water canteens, and a string of dried meat. 

Gaara had to carry the bulk of their possessions, Shukaku never bothered with it; he was constantly scouting the area around them, making up territory lines, constantly paranoid someone would muscle in and try and /kill/ Gaara. 

It wasn’t that Shukaku cared about Gaara, it was just necessary that he be aware of his mortality. Gaara was his weak point, like his heart exposed, and even though the human proved he could defend himself just fine; it didn’t stop Shukaku from being overly protective to the point of madness. 

They would walk for days at a time, trying to find Naruto somewhere in the world, an impossible task when there weren’t any leads. All the human cities were destroyed now, only small settlements dotted the wastelands, and almost everyone was terrified of Shukaku and Gaara(so blatantly being a mage with his ‘demon’ sand). They didn’t get much information, and most of it wasn’t good because it was accumulated under duress. 

Gaara watched Shukaku kill many alphas, destroying families by ridding them of their ‘protector’, by dashing their chances of repopulating. 

Gaara was numb to the violence, what did he care about these random people? No one had cared about him, after all. The population still feared him on sight. Even though he was an omega, even though his scent was supposed to bring /comfort/; his smell was tainted by the magic in his blood, sour and /wrong/, and one whiff of it caused uncertainty and fear to bloom in the eyes of strangers. They could probably smell /death/ on him, and if they couldn’t, they’d smell it on Shukaku and (try to) run the other way. 

It didn’t matter how many people they needed to kill, or how many people they needed to interrogate(torture) if it brought him back on the road to Naruto. 

He /needed/ to find Naruto. 

Gaara didn’t want to live in this nightmare anymore. 

\--

In the year they traveled together the ache of losing Naruto was still fresh. 

It didn’t matter if Shukaku was there to fill the ‘void’, the biju was just as terrible as when they first met, but somehow bearable now that he got used to him. Shukaku didn’t go out of his way to be kind(if he even knew what the word meant), but he’d do what was necessary. 

He’d take Gaara hunting, or fishing, he’d assist in cleaning, cutting, and skinning the meats they found. He’d sometimes stay in the tent with him when he ‘slept’, though neither of them really slept, and if Gaara did manage it, Shukaku would wake him up by stabbing him in the side with his claws, or smothering him with some wadded up fabric. 

Shukaku constantly wanted him on his toes, just as obscenely paranoid, even though the /only/ person able to get through his sand barrier and his sand armor was the bastard making it impossible to sleep or really enjoy /anything/. 

It was also very clear that Shukaku didn’t trust Kishi and Toma. 

He wouldn’t /openly/ attack them, but he didn’t have to. His posturing, his inflated aura, his blatant /aggression/ towards them said enough. 

When they first started traveling Gaara had tried to latch onto the duo Naruto had given him; after all, they were Carpathians like the blond had been, and they were Naruto’s /friends/. Gaara had felt if he got closer to them, he’d find out more about Naruto, and maybe having companionship would help the ache in his chest. 

But, Shukaku didn’t let that happen.

Every Time Gaara tried to approach them, Shukaku would be there. He’d just seemed to materialize from the ether and be there just to throw insults, and sometimes /fight/. Gaara felt isolation was a better tactic, to spare his companions, and let Shukaku take him wherever he wanted, and kept his ears open only for the biju. 

Over the year the unrest had built, there was tension strung between all of them, and Gaara had heard Kishi and Toma speaking in the night about ‘what should be done’. 

Gaara didn’t know what that phrase could mean, but Shukaku decided to fill the gaps. 

‘They’re going to kill you.’ Shukaku said one night, his breath hot against his ear. 

Gaara was laying on his side, staring at the wall of the canvas tent, Shukaku laid out behind him, his long body pressed against him. He felt vulnerable like this, his skin devoid of his sand armor, his gourd propped against the opening of the tent(though his chakra-infused sand was useless against Shukaku). ‘They won’t.’ Gaara said to the darkness around him. 

‘They will try.’ Shukaku said, ‘I can see it, when they look at you, they see me dead.’

Gaara was quiet, listening to the sound of their shared breaths, feeling Shukaku’s chest against his back. 

‘It wouldn’t be hard.’ Shukaku /growled/, ‘Even with your magic you’re still a /child/. If they got you away from me, we’d both be dead.’ 

Gaara didn’t think Shukaku was really talking to him anymore, it was common for the biju to rant. 

‘We’ll kill them first.’ 

‘I don’t think they’re going to hurt me.’ Gaara said, and immediately Shukaku’s hand had fisted in his hair, wrenching his head back, his green eyes wide and staring up at Shukaku’s shadowed expression. 

‘Why won’t they?’ He asked, his voice low, just a rumble of sound. 

Gaara didn’t have an answer, he didn’t know why they wouldn’t, but he felt like Naruto wouldn’t have left him with killers. There wouldn’t be a plot against him, because Naruto wouldn’t have done that, right? 

‘You put too much faith in others.’ Shukaku snapped, ‘Everyone is out for themselves. If you weren’t bound to me I would have killed you already, don’t forget that.’ 

Gaara wouldn’t forget, if he had the ability he would have done it too, if he could. He didn’t say that to the biju, of course, but he figured Shukaku knew, could probably see it in his eyes. 

Shukaku got up to a sitting position, his body pivoted towards the door of the tent. ‘This was probably Naruto’s plan,’ He said, mostly to himself again, ‘Try and keep me leashed and when it didn’t work, kill you to get rid of me altogether.’ 

Gaara sat up too, noticing that there wasn’t a light on the other side of the tent, the fire was out, and mostly likely Toma and Kishi were somewhere nearby. The Carpathians didn’t need to sleep, not for weeks, it was another reason they were all on edge with each other. No one rested, which made everything feel dangerous and sinister, especially in the dark like now. Gaara didn’t believe in this overhead plot Shukaku was cooking up, but he couldn’t help the prickle of fear that teased his skin. 

He didn’t believe Naruto had anything to do with it; but what if Shukaku was right, and what if they were planning on getting rid of him so they could get rid of Shukaku? 

‘Follow me out.’ The biju has hissed at him, reaching to open the tent flap and Gaara dutifully edged behind the blond, absently reaching for his gourd and strapping it easily to his back. 

\--

/That/ fight had ended almost as quickly as it had started. 

Even now, where he walked behind Shukaku, he could see the stunned faces of Toma and Kishi behind his eyes.

Gaara still didn’t know if there was really a plot to kill him, or if Shukaku had made it up. Kishi and Toma had tried to defend themselves, Kishi had tried to lay hands on him when he had managed to get him out from behind Shukaku’s back(though Gaara’s sand had reacted in kind and he ended up crushing Kishi’s arm before the Carpathian blinked away). 

Gaara didn’t know if the plan had always been to kill him, or if the shock of the battle and the stress to put down Shukaku had caused Kishi to try and murder him that night. Maybe he’d never know, or maybe Naruto knew. 

He supposed it didn’t entirely matter in the big scheme of things. Life was just cruel, and only the strong survived. It hadn’t mattered that Shukaku had subdued the two Carpathians in the end, that he had them bloody and broken at their feet when he hissed for Gaara to ‘finish them’. 

Gaara hadn’t even hesitated, he had looked into their eyes before he smothered them with sand, his expression impassive and his eyes unapologetic. He was just surviving, and maybe they could understand it, or maybe they could forgive him for it. 

But, it didn’t really matter if they did. 

They were dead now, years had passed, and Gaara didn’t know why he kept seeing their faces sometimes in his dreams(nightmares). 

He had killed more than them since he was thirteen; but maybe it was because it was the first time he had a choice. It was the first time he wasn’t at the mercy of his emotions, of his black moods, of the sand’s influence; he had killed them because he wanted to, and maybe that was why it still stuck with him. Shukaku didn’t need to twist his arm to force the violence out of him; he had just /did it/, and that was that. 

Maybe he was a monster like Shukaku was.

Maybe Naruto had seen that in him, maybe Naruto had bound him on purpose, maybe Naruto had felt that two beasts just belonged together. 

Gaara pressed his fingers hard against the kanji above his eye, frowning to himself, trying to /force/ the bad thoughts out of his head. Naruto was good, he was going to find Naruto, everything would be okay because Naruto didn’t think he was an ugly broken thing. He had only done what he had to, and Gaara was only doing what he had to do now because he needed to find Naruto. 

Naruto would forgive him, and that was all that mattered, was that Naruto would /forgive/ him for everything he had done, and everything he needed to do. 

\--

Gaara knew it was just starting to be summer when he felt /different/. 

He had just turned fourteen that year, he had been traveling with Shukaku alone since the death(murder) of Kishi and Toma for about a year and a handful of months. They had returned to the Suna territory, it was a place both of them knew well and it was somewhere they could regroup in ‘safety’. This was before Shukaku had gotten it into his head that he needed them to be unbound, that they needed to find Naruto again to do it. 

This was back when Shukaku was still trying to puzzle out Gaara and their place in the world ‘together’. Shukaku was hardly a teacher, but he did show Gaara things that he felt were necessary, and he did impose his ‘wisdom’(paranoid delusions) on Gaara more often than not, and what came from that was the violence of his moods. 

The new subject the past few months had been Gaara’s second gender. Or, rather, the lackthereof. 

Normally humans presented at twelve, but sometimes earlier, and rarely sometimes later. Gaara was halfway through his fourteenth year and it still hadn’t hit him yet. Shukaku had been getting frustrated, said the game would change depending on what he was, and he was sick of /waiting/. But, it wasn’t like either of them could do anything about it, so they took it out on each other, the landscape, and anything that stupidly crossed their path. 

They had taken up refuge in the thick mountains that surrounded the Suna province; they had been living out of a cave for the past few months which was better than being in the open desert. Here it was cool, and deep inside was a spring of fresh water. They had plenty of meat from the desert animals and enough cactus fruit to get through the tough times like now. 

Summer was always harsh, but worse in the desert. Even under his sand armor he was feeling the burn of the dry air and intense heat. Gaara couldn’t recall exactly /when/ the temperature around him affected him this badly, but he figured it must just be a terrible Summer, maybe the worst ever, and that was contributing to his discomfort. He was sitting in the shade of the cave, stripped down to his trousers, but he was still feeling uncomfortable. 

Shukaku lately had been crowding his space more often than before, doing things he hadn’t done before. He had been touching him, just innocent grabs to his arm, shoulder, or sometimes a push to his back when they needed to hurry up. But, they weren’t harsh shoves, or angry swipes, or a chiding jerk of his body. It was /different/. Shukaku also had been in his space more often just because, he was just /there/, when they laid to rest, or when they hunted, and he could have sworn he felt the alpha scenting at him(he had done this once before, repulsed by his child-smell, and that had been it). 

Gaara had a feeling that Shukaku probably knew something that he didn’t, but the biju was prone to keeping secrets, and they hardly spoke about anything other than Shukaku’s ambitions. It was clear the one tailed beast dealt with Gaara because he needed to, and neither of them felt like getting closer than necessary. They may be ‘bound’, but they were hardly friends, or even amiable towards each other; their relationship felt a lot like captor and captive, though neither of them knew which was which. 

The redhead pondered all these strange things while he looked out at the blinding yellow sand of his desert home. The sun was the highest in the sky, causing the air to ripple with the burn of the day. Gaara wasn’t entirely aware he was panting, but his breaths had come short, and even as he fanned himself(with the fan he had made from the wing of a hawk) he was somehow feeling /worse/. 

Even his sand armor, which was usually just an extension of his skin, felt /itchy/. It felt heavy on his body when it had never before, and he debated only a moment before he let the glittering grains melt from his body and get sucked into the gourd sitting innocent to his left, propped against the mouth of the cave. 

It didn’t help; without the armor sweat beaded up on his skin and he /squirmed/ in place, his trousers felt scratchy and thick even though they were made of thin brown cotton. 

Where was Shukaku anyway? 

Gaara only mildly wondered about the biju, mainly because it wasn’t like him to stray far and definitely not stray long. He had been gone since morning, of that Gaara was sure, having noticed when the alpha slipped from their ‘nest’ and simply left without a word. That wasn’t uncommon, but being gone this long was; but the redhead didn’t think he was /worried/. 

Why would he worry over the horrible man? 

But, there a nagging sensation in his guts, a pain, something akin to /fear/ running up and down his spine. It was a strange feeling, especially for Gaara, who hadn’t encountered /fear/ since he had been a child. He didn’t sense any immediate danger, and Shukaku obviously wasn’t dead somewhere(or he would be too), but this feeling was strong and consuming, impossible to ignore. 

His heart was beating hard, echoing in his ears, and he couldn’t help it when he scratched at his neck, down his chest, debating as he tugged at the waistband of his pants. He felt restless, paranoid, hot, and /frustrated/. 

Was he sick? 

Gaara had only gotten sick a handful of times, and it never lasted long, and certainly never felt like this. 

He dismissed the idea, unable to hold a thought for long, already thinking about how water would feel against his hot skin. He would never use the fresh water spring in their cave for anything but drinking, but he could venture out into the day and find a wellspring of muddy water to bathe in. Even the tepid desert water would feel better than this dry /air/ scratching at his flesh and driving him mad. He just needed /relief/. 

Decided, Gaara had gotten up, his bare feet flat on the cool stones beneath him, about to step out into the sunlight when suddenly his wrist was grabbed. Just as quickly the sand reacted around him, creating a shield that was blasted flat by Shukaku’s aura, the demon’s hand like a vice around the human’s slender wrist. 

‘Shukaku.’ Gaara had said without thinking, having been genuinely startled by the alpha’s sudden reappearance. He must be completely out of it to have not sensed him at all. 

‘Where are you going?’ Shukaku didn’t release his arm, instead the demon crowded into his space, jerking him bodily against him(distantly Gaara was aware he dropped his fan, his free hand instead fisting into the front of Shukaku’s elaborate white kimono). 

‘To bathe.’ Came Gaara’s easy answer, but there was a confusing static to the air; not quite ‘danger’, not quite just Shukaku’s aura or power, it was something else. His chakra infused sand roiled and crashed against the invisible barrier Shukaku had created as if testing its bonds, he felt light headed, powerless and flushed. It should make him angry, or frustrated(as usual), but it didn’t, he felt exhilarated. He tried to shake the thoughts from his head, feeling dazed, what was happening here? 

‘Look at you,’ Shukaku /growled/ his voice full of tense agitation, his black eyes smoldering with something Gaara hadn’t seen before when the biju looked him over(it made his knees weak), ‘You aren’t going anywhere.’ 

‘But…’ 

‘Do you even know what’s happening to you?’ His nose was at Gaara’s temple suddenly, his breath cascading over the shell of his ear. His hold on him was bruising, but there was something else between them, something raw and primal that Gaara wasn’t lucid enough to be repulsed by. 

Why was his body so relaxed? Why did the alpha suddenly smell like the desert after a rain, humid, musty, earthy and shockingly familiar? Had he always smelled like that? Gaara felt flustered in a way he had never before(when did he ever lose his control these days?), even his control on the sand was slipping, the chakra packed grains reacting to his mood and his body language as opposed to his direct mental commands. His mind felt foggy, full of cotton, completely oblivious to the world beyond this moment, beyond /them/ standing there together. 

Shukaku had pulled back enough to look down into Gaara’s glassy green eyes, seeing the complacency in their depths, the clear building lust. It was disgusting, this entire event was /disgusting/. Just another problem he needed to deal with, how brittle, broken, and /stupid/ humans were. ‘You’re going into heat.’ 

‘Heat?’ Gaara parrotted back as if he had never heard of the term or the concept; it was clear he was succumbing to his feral mind as the seconds dragged on. 

‘I’ll show you how to control this.’ He said in that same low, gravelly tone, urging Gaara deeper into the cave, the omega stumbling to obey behind him; seeming to have lost coordination of his limbs, the sand following him like a pet rather than the destructive force it could be. 

\--

Gaara’s first heat had been terrible. 

He could still remember Shukaku’s cruel commands, the way the alpha was constantly in his space but never gave him what he ‘wanted’. Shukaku had tried to force him lucid, though the entire five day event, even when the pain was so bad his sand hit Shukaku’s barrier over and over, like waves crashing against a beach, doing nothing, but trying to relieve the pressure building inside of Gaara. 

Gaara could remember being naked on the rocks, his skin burning, extremely sensitive but being denied any sort of touch. Even now the memory burned hot like molten coals in his brain, he glared at Shukaku’s back, his arms wrapping around himself as if to stave off the residual pain the memory was causing. 

Despite it, Shukaku had opened his eyes, had let him ‘control’ his urges to a point. 

The biju had been right, that his body craved, that he was woefully human, that if he couldn’t control his mental beast, he’d wind up dead or used by a passing alpha. Shukaku had forced him to build up his walls further, to be wary of any and all things, to control himself even when he wanted badly to just /let go/ and feel the relief of losing it. 

Shukaku’s words still stuck with him, ‘Look at you, begging for me. You hate me, yet your body is trying to make you fuck me.’ He could still hear the smug smirk in his tone, ‘This is what you are now, Gaara. You can’t afford this weakness. You need to be stronger than your nature.’ 

Still, there was no concern or care in Shukaku’s words; it was all necessity. The biju couldn’t let Gaara get out of his sight, couldn’t let Gaara be lured off by someone else in his feverish state of mind. It was just /easier/ if the redhead was strong, if he could take care of himself even if Shukaku wasn’t there, it would be better for the both of them in the long run.

Gaara wouldn’t thank him for the life lessons. 

Though, the heat he had last year was more bearable. Even facing it basically alone, it was better than his first, and he was able to be mostly lucid throughout it. Shukaku also gave him more space, though was always close by. During Gaara’s heats, his first and second, he was at least aware of its effect on the biju as well, even if he tried to act ‘above it all’. Shukaku would get more aggressive, would wander their territory lines purposely, would attack any creature close to them, and would often scent at him though never physically touched. 

Control and power were something they both knew intimately, they both valued above all things, and in that they could be allies, even if they mutually disliked the situation they were in. 

Though despite his ability to muscle through the pain of his heats, he was hoping this one he wouldn’t have to spend alone. 

He didn’t know if they’d reach Naruto before it hit, but it was currently late spring, and they had been on the road for months. It wasn’t likely they’d find Naruto anytime soon, but Gaara was holding out some hope that Naruto would just be beyond the next valley, or mountain, or flat land. 

One foot in front of the other, one day at a time, that was all he could really do until he found Naruto again.


End file.
